


Increments

by teenagewristband



Category: Common Law (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Character of Color, Emotional Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 01:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8645449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenagewristband/pseuds/teenagewristband
Summary: A bad day, one thing leads to another.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I daydreamed two short Common Law fics while at work the last two days. This is the second of the two. I still have to write the other one. Of course it's not like I don't already have two other fics from the kink meme I need to finish.

Wes is driving. It's been that kind of day. They aren't headed anywhere in particular. Travis is quiet in the seat beside him. Staring out of the window at the streetlights. The tension between them is more palpable than usual. It has a name, but neither of them have said it out loud. Tonight, what happened earlier, the name is trying to claw its way out of Wes' throat.

He slides the car into an open parking space on the street. People say that one thing just led to another when something happens. They hear it from perps a lot. Like there was nothing in between. Wes knows that's not it at all. It's not that one thing leads to another, not some random thing. It's one decision leading inexorably to another. Like stepping stones. Like being parked on the street next to this motel on Sunset. A motel that's gone through its evolutions. Once it was a place used routinely by prostitutes to conduct business. Now it's like little hipster cottages. He should probably say something to Travis, but when he looks over at his partner, Travis is opening the car door, slamming it shut behind him. A decision. He doesn't look back at Wes.

Wes watches through the windshield as his partner walks into the motel's office. For a moment Wes wonders if Travis had an occasion to be here when he worked Narcotics. He could drive away. It's not like Travis would be stranded. He's a grownup and a cop. If Wes were to start the car again and peel away from the curb with a squeal of tires, Travis would find his way.

 

In the office Travis glances at Wes for just a moment before he hands him the key. There must be a retro theme of some kind since Travis hands him an actual key, instead of a card key, attached to a bright orange hexagon with a room number printed on it. Travis glides past Wes, without touching him, back out to the sidewalk. A decision. Travis has made one, now it's Wes' turn. He can still leave. The car keys are still in the front pocket he slipped them into when he decided to get out of the car. Travis is still a grown man who can find his own way. 

Room twenty is on the second level of the motel. All of the rooms open up to the parking lot. As Wes takes the external stairs up to the second level, Travis falls in step easily behind him. Travis has his back in a way Wes hadn't had his earlier that day. That's not something Wes can take on right now so he shakes it off. 

As soon as they are on the other side of the door, Wes toes it shut and pulls Travis into an embrace. Holds tight. A decision made either when he pulled into the parking space or when he turned the key in room twenty's lock. His partner is rigid in his arms for the seconds it takes the other man to make up his mind. When it happens, Wes is more grateful than he can say for the break of the solid body against his. They have needed a moment for a while now. This is it. His arms tighten around Travis. Words spill out of his mouth that he's not even sure are real words, but they have a passion, feelings. Feelings over what happened this afternoon. Feelings about all the things unsaid between them. Travis' stubble scrapes his face as he presses his cheek against Wes' face. 

It isn't one thing that leads to another. It's the decision to turn and tilt his face just the fraction needed for his lips to meet Travis'. It's just the fraction Travis doesn't move so that there is contact. Contact. Just the two of them alone trying to have their moment while trying to get through the moment. Travis is the one who makes the decision to stop. It should have been Wes. He's the one that's compromised. More compromised. But the decision is Travis'. Wes accepts it, but he can't stop his fingers from lingering against the pulse point in Travis' neck as he pulls away.

“I'm starving,” Travis says. The sudden growling of his stomach co-signs that. “I'll find something on Grubhub.”

“I need to make a call.”

“Yeah.”

Wes steps out of the hotel room and closes the door behind him. The call is short, to the point. “Today wasn't great. The debrief isn't...I'm not sure. Don't wait up. Yeah, goodnight.”

Wes decides to turn off his phone before walking back into the room. 

 

They're both starving. Neither of them have eaten since a quick breakfast at the food truck before the day went to shit. It looks like Travis ordered two of everything from the Sunset Grill down the street. It just might tide them over. As Travis finishes one of the orders of fries, he starts to speak in a low quiet voice. 

“I thought I was done man. I thought it was really over.”

So did Wes, but he doesn't say it out loud, doesn't say that he was trying to come to terms with having to tell eighteen mothers their son had been killed in the line of duty. It didn't mean he'd given up, he'd just been...scared. Scared he would never see Travis breathing again. Scared that they had run out of time. 

“You scared me to death,” Wes offers quietly. He'd had no line of sight. No choice, but to wait for S.W.A.T., wait for the negotiator, the sniper. 

He's been absently stroking his fingers across Travis' wrist. He doesn't realize it until Travis' hand slides over his, pressing his fingers still, holding his hand. Between the warmth of Travis' hand over his and the warmth of Travis' skin under his fingertips, Wes feels himself coming undone inside. More undone.

If he hadn't parked the car, taken the key...

 

Wes wakes with a start to Mr. Pillow on the room's television and Travis' head pillowed against his chest. It feels a little damp, probably drool. He didn't get to see Travis make the decision to take off both their shoes, then stretch out the length of the bed to rest his head on Wes' chest. Wes apparently had already dozed off. With the weight of his partner's head anchoring him in the moment, Wes lets himself drop into sleep again. 

 

“I think I should put in for a transfer.” Travis has his hand on the doorknob as Wes comes out of the bathroom having finger brushed his teeth as best he could. Another decision that Wes missed, but he won't accept this one as easily as the Mr. Pillow situation. He won't except it at all.

With his eyes intent on his partner's, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. Turns it back on so that he can make a call.

His eyes never leave Travis'. “Alex it's me.” He's made a decision too. Either just now or after both he and Travis had finished filling out reports, explaining face to face to the Captain exactly what happened when a perp had other ideas about being arrested, and he'd said, “Come on,” with a reasonable faith Travis would follow.


End file.
